


alternative means of influence

by northern



Series: where you can always find me [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Collars, Gen, M/M, Manipulative Will, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northern/pseuds/northern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to be as far inside you as you've been in me. I've just chosen another method."</p>
            </blockquote>





	alternative means of influence

**Author's Note:**

> Start with the first fic in the series, or this won't seem plausible.
> 
> Thank you to Elizaria and Damnslippyplanet for beta!

Every day for a week, Will at some point during the day comes up to Hannibal and asks him if this is a good time. If Hannibal says that it is, Will sits in the closest chair. "Hannibal, come here," he says and pats his thigh.

If Hannibal for some reason tells Will that it's not a good time, Will walks away and comes back approximately thirty minutes later to ask him again. So far, there has been no variation nor display of impatience, even on the day Hannibal told him no four times, just to see what would happen. It was obvious that Will knew what he was doing, that Hannibal was baiting him, but he didn't seem to mind. As if he knew that Hannibal would eventually say yes.

As promised, Hannibal kneels and puts his head down on Will's thigh. Will gently strokes his head and face for a time, calls him a good boy and after a minute or two lets him go with a smile and a "Done for now!"

Hannibal is unsure what the desired result is for Will, unless it's simply to encourage Hannibal to believe that kneeling at Will's feet is a good and normal thing. The attempt at conditioning is far from subtle, and as such should be at least somewhat ineffective, but Hannibal finds himself thinking about Will's hands often. He should be getting inured to their effect, but each time Will touches him, Hannibal has to fight not to lean into the caress. None of his lovers, even in his youth, has attempted such a thing, and the more Will does it, the more it feels like a rare delicacy that he is grateful to be allowed to sample. There is no need for Hannibal to look and listen for reactions or changes of breathing in Will, like he always does with an intimate partner, because the same thing happens each time and he's not required to do anything but to be present, passive. On the other hand, this is what is most difficult about this daily exercise — to do nothing.

"What is it that you hope to achieve?" he finally asks Will as they sit together after dinner, Will engrossed in his book and Hannibal just having given up on trying to sketch a particular house in Boston.

Will puts his book down. "By having you kneel for me?" he asks.

Said that way it sounds sordid. Except for that first time, Will hasn't put a name to their actions at all.

"Yes."

Will pulls his legs up onto the couch, his socked feet making indents in the cushion as he maneuvers himself until he's curled up against the armrest. "It's just, you remind me of a few dogs I've had. It seemed like something that might be good for you."

"I see," Hannibal says. "For me, and not for you?"

"Oh, for me as well," Will says, smiling briefly. "I want us to be closer."

"Closer in a particular way."

"It seems like a good way in."

A good way in.

"Why show me the collar if you won't use it?" Hannibal isn't sure what impulse made him mention that.

Will looks at him for a moment in silence before seemingly coming to a sudden decision. He gets up. "One moment," he says and disappears into the hallway leading to their bedrooms.

Hannibal closes his eyes and breathes. Why put himself through this amateur psychology experiment? Will is demolishing his carefully built defences like a bulldozer, making way for who knows what, and Hannibal has made no real attempt to stop him. Why hasn't he?

Will returns with the item in his hand.

He holds it out to Hannibal, curled in his palm, and Hannibal leans in to smell the rich sweet scent of the leather. A second later he thinks of the image they must make — a man leaning in like a dog to smell his master's hand. It makes him still, his face inches from Will's offered hand. Then he slowly leans back again, his gaze rising to Will's face.

"Would you like me to put it on you?" Will asks him.

Something unwieldy is turning over in Hannibal's chest, and he's not sure how his voice will sound if he tries to speak, so he doesn't, staring mutely at Will.

"Oh, we know how to do this," Will says and sits down on the couch again. He shifts the collar to his left hand. "Hannibal, come here." He pats his thigh.

His body does know how to kneel by now. Will doesn't let him lay his head down once he's in position. Instead he matter-of-factly wraps the collar around Hannibal's throat, drawing the two tongues of leather snugly through the buckle. Will adjusts how it sits around his neck, making sure none of his hair is caught underneath. Then he cups Hannibal's face in his hands and looks at him.

"There's a good boy," Will tells him. "My good boy."

For a horrifying moment Hannibal isn't sure he will be able to control his face. His body twitches with the need to stand up, move away, but he forces himself to remain where he is.

Weak with shame, he puts his head down on Will's thigh instead, grateful that he can keep his head turned away. Eyes closed, prickling with welling tears, he bears Will's hands on him, stroking his hair and his neck where the collar sits. Every time Will's fingers seek the band of leather out, tugging on it slightly, it feels as if he's touching something fragile inside Hannibal's chest, threatening to tear it loose. There is a fine trembling running through his body.

When Will makes as if to let him up, Hannibal stays. If he raises his head, the last thin strand of deniability will break off, and Will will be able to see the result of his very efficient strategy plainly on Hannibal's face. Instead, Hannibal clings on with his arm around Will's legs, this display of need not quite as terrible to bear. After a brief pause, Will's hands return, beginning their slow stroking movements again.

"You're a sweet boy," he murmurs. "You can stay, of course you can stay, as long as you want."

It takes a long time for Hannibal to claw himself back to anything resembling composure and longer still before he dares to lift his head and let Will unbuckle the collar and slide it off.

"How is this good for me?" he asks, his voice sounding rough and unused to his own ears. "You would hurt me less by cutting my hand off."

Will keeps his hand curled around Hannibal's neck, his thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Change hurts," he says, and Hannibal feels as if the floor is dropping away underneath him.

He closes his eyes. Of course he knew. But it wasn't conscious knowing.

"This is what I want of you," Will continues. "I want to be as far inside you as you've been in me. I've just chosen another method."

"That goal was accomplished long ago," Hannibal whispers. "What you are doing now is something else."

Will finger combs his hair away from his forehead. "And you are letting me do it."

He is. Oh, he is.


End file.
